


Dinopocalypse

by Untherius



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 11:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2023275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Untherius/pseuds/Untherius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on the trail of their missing father, Dean and Sam encounter far more than they'd expected.  It's then that they realize the world has far bigger problems than yellow-eyed demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinopocalypse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FrenchRoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchRoast/gifts).



“Another one?” Dean sounded worried. “I've got a really bad feeling about all this.”

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Me, too.”

“Hey, it was your idea to come down here.”

“It's the first lead we've on Dad since...well, a while.”

“And so we're following a string of towns filled with chewed-up people. Great.”

Dean pulled the black Chevy Impala off the road, such as it was, and coasted to a halt next to a set of gas pumps. He cut the engine.

“Well,” said Sam, opening the door and standing up to stretch, “at least we can get gas for free.”

“Lucky us,” said Dean, making little effort to hide the eye-rolling in his voice.

“Yeah, well, it's kind of hard to steal from a town full of dead people.”

“That's what worries me. We've seen nothing but bodies for almost a week.”

“No such thing as a free lunch, huh?”

The two of them had seen a lot of strange stuff since their mother had died years before and especially since they'd been actively hunting following Jessica's murder.

Sometimes, when Sam closed his eyes, he could still see his girlfriend pinned to the ceiling, her beautiful body wreathed in flame just like his mother had been. The pain and grief from that event was still a little raw.

Yet none of that had prepared either of them for the carnage they'd seen stretching along the minor roads they'd been traveling not long after crossing into Costa Rica.

It wasn't that either of them hadn't seen dead bodies before, or dismembered ones either, for that matter. It was more the scale of it and the apparent ferocity with which each victim had been ripped apart. The more recently-dead had still worn the expressions of unmitigated terror that had frozen on their faces with the merciful coming of death. Sam had been pretty sure all those people had still been alive when whatever it was had torn into them.

Unfortunately, he hadn't done enough homework to determine just what had attacked them. Nor had he been sure just how long it had been between the attacks and his and Dean's arrival. He wouldn't have put money on a forensic scientist doing much better, given how fast things rotted in the tropics and how good the local scavengers were at finding their meals, and he'd even said so. Still, he couldn't shake the impression that the further south they traveled, the less recent the attacks had been.

He looked up as Dean all but staggered back from the small building that made up the station. He coughed into his arm hair.

Sam looked past his brother at the broken windows and something brown that appeared to have been splattered on the insides of a few still-intact panes. “Just like the others,” he said, guessing what Dean had seen.

Dean nodded. “I'm no expert, but I'm beginning to think your hunch is right,” he said between coughs. “That guy...” He nodded backward. “...looks...uh...further gone than the ones in the last town. I'm telling you, Sam, I have a really bad feeling about this.”

“Like whatever this is might be spreading?”

Dean nodded, then lifted the nozzle from the pump. He flipped the old-fashioned lever and the machine whirred to life.

“At least that's a good sign,” said Sam.

“I'll take any one I can get,” said Dean. He opened the gas tank cap and shoved the nozzle into the car. The familiar sound somehow felt reassuring.

Sam stepped slowly across the concrete apron that merged into the gravel road. Something in the muddy space in the adjacent vacant lot drew his attention. He walked to the crumbling edge of the concrete, looked down, and blinked several times.

“Uh...Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You know all those footprints we've been seeing all other the place?”

“The ones you keep saying look like big birds without rear toes?”

“Yah. Those would be the ones. I...I think you should come take a look at this.”

“What is it?”

Sam just shot his brother a look. Dean took the hint and shut off the gas.

“So what's this...whoa! Holy crap! Is that...?”

“Yup. Looks like.”

In the drying mud, a single footprint had been pressed into the ground. It looked very much like a bird's, only each toe was easily as long as Sam's leg. Judging by the amount of mud splurched up around the edges, not to mention the freshly-broken vegetation across the road and the collapsed shed and fencing in the other direction, whatever had left the print was big. Very big.

“Okay,” said Dean, “now I'm ready to believe the dragon thing.”

Sam grunted. The day before, they'd found one survivor, bloody and delirious. The poor man must have been in his seventies, although a hard, outdoor life could have added any number of years. In any case, the first and only word out of his mouth, repeated over and over until his heart had finally given out on him, had been, “Dragones.”

Sam remembered how Dean had looked at him. Had they been any other guys, they'd have thought the old man out of his mind. Whether from a knock to the head, infectious fever, traumatic stress, it probably wouldn't have mattered. But both Winchesters had plenty of experience with things most people didn't believe existed. But dragons?

That might have explained the general state of all the dismembered bodies, most of which appeared to have been chew toys for some jungle animals. Sam had initially suspected jaguar, except for the scale of the carnage in both scope and intensity. There was no way a normal population of jaguars, even at pre-Columbian levels, would have been capable of all that.

Then there were all the bird-like tracks all over the place. Some of them were about the size of a goose, but without the webbing. Others had toes a good six inches long, the third toe peculiarly truncated and with a sort of hole left a few inches from the shorter end. It was all very peculiar. Fortunately, Sam and Dean specialized in peculiar.

Sam stared at the print and gave a low whistle.

“I don't know about you,” said Dean, “but I think I'd like to be somewhere else when whatever made that gets back.”

An abrupt vibration gently shook the ground. The water collected in the footprint rippled. Another vibration disturbed the water again. And again.

Something cracked loudly out in the forest, a very large branch from the sound of it. Treetops swayed, accompanied by more crunching.

“Um,” said Dean.

“Yup,” said Sam.

Both turned to run, but then froze. A shape pushed through the foliage about a hundred yards up the road. At first, only a massive head, held some twenty feet above the ground, was visible. Even at that distance, Sam could clearly see the large teeth protruding from both upper and lower jaws. The animal pushed effortlessly through the verge, each footfall thudding through the ground. A few steps brought its entire grey-brown bulk on to the roadway.

It stood on powerful hind legs, its front legs relatively small and stubby. A massive tail counterbalanced the rest of the body. Sam recognized it immediately. He still barely believed his eyes.

“Sam? Is that...?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy crap,” Dean said quietly.

Sam just nodded.

“That's what the old man called a dragon?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Huh.”

“So what are we gonna do?”

“You mean besides get the hell out of here?”

The animal looked directly at the Winchesters. It tipped its head back slightly, sniffing the air in a curiously feline manner.

“Uh-oh,” said Sam. “Don't move.”

“D...don't move? Are you nuts?”

“They can probably smell fear.”

“Oh, really? You don't say. And just how is not moving going to help us get the hell out of here?”

“I'm working on it.”

“Well, work faster, Sam. Because I'm pretty sure that thing can run faster than us.”

After a pause, “Okay. Back up very slowly. No sudden moves.”

“Slowly. Got it. No problem.” Dean didn't sound particularly convinced. But he complied anyway.

Progress felt slower than it should have been. The Impala was maybe half a dozen yards behind them. But given the size of the animal still sniffing the air, Sam was pretty sure if could close the distance between them in maybe twenty steps. He'd seen bears charge and those were fast enough, on you almost before you knew it had happened. He shuddered.

Sam glanced carefully over his shoulder. They were still alone, more or less. Dean moved slowly along the driver's side of the vehicle. He carefully pulled the gas nozzle from the car where he'd left it and returned it to the pump. Sam flinched as the gas cap clicked into place. But the sound didn't seem to have carried.

The great head of the predator stalking them still swiveled slowly back and forth, sniffing the air. What was it expecting to smell?

“Okay,” said Sam quietly, as soon as he'd cleared the door on his side, “here's the...Dean, what are you doing?” he hissed.

“Weapons,” Dean replied. He stood with one hand on the trunk latch. It clicked and he carefully raised it.

Sam was ever so glad they'd greased it during their last maintenance pass. It had squeaked and creaked like a rusty bed and so loudly it could have awakened the dead.

“You know,” hissed Sam, “the moment we start the engine, that thing's going to be on us like white on rice, right?”

“That's why we're going to shoot it.”

“Are you nuts? That'll just make it mad.”

“Won't it already be chasing us anyway?” Dean pulled two shotguns and four pistols out of the trunk, along with a box of ammunition for each.

Sam still wasn't sure how they'd managed to cross several international borders with all that stuff. The two of them should have been arrested on the spot many times over and held indefinitely without trial, bail, or any of that. Apparently, the fake Interpol identities he'd cooked up had been enough. That, and the no-business attitude Dean had put on. They'd long ago found that if you acted like you were supposed to be there, people tended to give you less trouble. Well, that and bribery.

Dean handed both shotguns to Sam. He was glad the Impala had big windows. If they'd had some dinky-ass Datsun or something, there'd never be even close to enough room. Dean pushed on the trunk and grunted. The latch had always been sticky and had been the one thing that had defied repeated attempts to correct. He rolled his eyes and shoved. It came down hard and loud, much too loud for Sam's taste.

He looked up the road. The animal looked straight at them. “Uh-oh,” he said. “Nice going, ace.”

The animal growled, the sound rolling along the edge of the forest. Then it took one step toward them and let out a roar that sounded like lion, elephant, and bear all rolled into one.

“Oh...shit,” said Sam.

“Go!” said Dean. “Go, go, go!”

Both brothers scrambled into the car. Dean all but dumped the ammo boxes into Sam's lap. The roar of the engine, usually loud, merged with another roar from the tyrannosaur.

Dean floored the accelerator as Sam fumbled with a pair of twelve-gauge shells, one with silver shot, the other with rock salt. Tires squealed, the acrid smell of burning rubber wafting into the car as Sam cranked the window down. 

They hurtled onto the road, sliding sideways.

“Watch it, Bo Duke!” Sam snapped.

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean floored it again and gravel flew up behind them, rattling off the undercarriage as the tires again gained traction.

Sam could feel the heavy, rhythmic thuds accompanying each footfall from their pursuer. He turned his head around. “It's chasing us.”

“Oh, really, ya think?”

Sam checked both pistols, unsure how those were going to do much against an animal that could eat him in one bite. He checked the second shotgun, shoving a pair of solid slugs into it. He checked the side-view mirror. The tyrannosaur was gaining.

“Can't you outrun him? I thought you said this thing was fast!”

“Shotgun shuts his cake-hole remember?” Dean barked. “And speaking of shotguns,” he added, “now might be a good time.”

Sam rolled his eyes. The big dinosaur was already mad, so what the hell? He leaned out the window and aimed. “Keep it steady!” he yelled.

“Right,” Dean yelled back, “I'll be sure to file a complaint with the Costa Rican roads department!”

Sam squeezed the trigger and felt the stock kick against his shoulder.

“Did you hit it?”

“Dean, it's the size of a house! What do you think?”

The animal squealed, checked slightly, but kept going. Sam fired again with the same results. He was sure he'd hit it, but they were still too far away to see any wounds and it was too soon for a blood slick to develop. He ducked back into the car.

“Well,” he said, “silver and salt, so probably not supernatural.”

“Terrific.” Sam could hear the eye-rolling in his brother's voice.

Sam picked up the other rifle, leaned out of the window again and squeezed off two more rounds.

The tyrannosaur bellowed in response and seemed to pick up its pace.

Sam ejected the shells right into his lap. “Dammit!” he muttered as he swept the hot casings onto the floor. He grabbed two more shells and shoved them into the open breech. He glanced up at the side-view mirror.  
The tyrannosaur was still closing, its head rapidly filling the reflection, the words “OBJECTS IN MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR” superimposed upon it in large, not-so-friendly letters.

Sam leaned out again. The animal was almost close enough to rip their bumper off. He fired at point-black range, right into its snout.

The animal stalled out and snorted loudly, swinging its head back and forth.

“I think that did it,” said Sam.

The tyrannosaur bellowed again, then resumed its pursuit.

“Or not,” said Dean.

“Damn!”

They hurtled into a clearing, one wheel hitting a pothole so hard, Sam thought for a moment they'd blown a tire.

Motion ahead and to the left caught Sam's attention. He felt his eyes widen. “Uh...Dean?”

“I see it, I see it!”

It was another dinosaur. This one was even larger than the tyrannosaur still chasing them. It had a distinctly crocodilian snout, a large sail on its back, substantial forearms, and brick-red skin. It stomped out of the forest, stopped in the middle of the road, turned toward them, and roared. The sound was louder and lower than the tyrannosaur's but just as terrifying.

Dean kept driving.

“Are you crazy?” Dean yelled over the answering roar from the tyrannosaur. “Don't go under it!”

“Go under it?” Dean replied. “Are you crazy?”

Moments later, they sped between the second dinosaur's massive legs. Sam instinctively ducked as they drove beneath its tree-like tail. Then they were out.

Sam craned his neck and watched the two dinosaurs slam into each other, the car apparently forgotten. They grappled together, rolling on the ground, biting and clawing at one another.

Minutes later, Dean let up on the gas. Sam's heart still pounded and he was pretty sure it was going to take him a while to come down off his adrenaline high.

“What the hell was that?” said Dean.

“Come on, Dean, everyone knows what a Tyrannosaurus looks like.”

“Yeah, I know that. I meant the other one.”

“Spinosaurus.”

“Spinosaurus? Seriously?”

“Yup.”

Dean groaned. “Wait, the old guy said dragons, plural. That must have been what he meant.”

“What about all the small footprints? Those things didn't leave those.”

“Wait, are you saying there are...hatchlings?”

“Looks like.”

Dead shook his head. “This is just getting better all the time,” he said sarcastically.

They drove on in silence for some time.

“So why are there dinosaurs in Costa Rica?” Dean asked, breaking the silence. “I mean, they're supposed to be extinct, right?”

Sam shrugged. “Got me. But, yeah, they are.”

“Think they might actually be demons?”

“Oh, sure, like they were going to just stand there while I walk up and do the silver knife test on them.”

“Hey, just asking. Gotta cover the bases, right?”

Dean turned onto another gravel road and at length out into another clearing that bordered yet another small village. Like the others, nothing moved. Bits of bodies—human, equine, and canine mainly—lay strewn about.

“Hey, what's that?” Dean asked, pointing at one of them.

Next to what looked like the remains of a donkey crouched three small lizards. Their lime-green skin contrasted well with the grey, tattered, blood-stained hair of the equine. One of them stood up on its hind legs in what was clearly a bipedal stance, its stiff tail counterbalanced. Slender arms hung from its shoulders and a long, graceful neck supported a small head. The whole animal was maybe a yard long at most.

“Huh,” said Sam. “They look like Compsognathus. Or maybe Procompsognathus.”

“Is that opposed to anti-compsognathus?”

“Very funny.”

“So...not a baby Tee-rex?”

“They're insectivores and scavengers. Most dinosaurs were actually pretty small. Like those guys.”

They sat there for a time, watching the little dinosaurs, which stood on their legs, bobbing up and down not unlike chickens, watching the Winchesters and their car.

A rumble, one all too familiar, rose out of the silence, growing steadily.

“Diesel?” Sam asked.

“Cummins, I think,” said Dean. “Could be a Mac. Smaller engine, probably.”

Dean shut off the Impala as Sam handed him one of the pistols. The two of them got out of the car and looked around. The Procomposnathus hopped up atop the dead donkey and chittered excitedly.

“What are they doing?” Sam wondered aloud.

“I don't know,” said Dean, “but as long as they're doing it over there, I'm not picky.”

The diesel engine sound continued to approach, but more slowly.

“I hear a couple of regular engines, too,” said Dean.

“Small convoy?”

“Probably.”

“Military?”

“Who knows? Better not be drug dealers. 'Cause if they are, you know I'll want to lead them back to the tyrannosaur and the...what'd you call it...spinosaur?”

Sam nodded. His brother might not have been an academic, but he was still a quick learner.

At length, a Jeep rounded one of the low buildings, followed by a large truck and then another Jeep. All three vehicles were painted a dark olive green and each one had the flag of Costa Rica painted on their doors. Definitely military.

All three disgorged men almost before they'd come to a complete stop. A few of them looked a bit green around the gills. Not that Sam could blame them. He'd seen photos of various atrocities of war. He'd also watched all the National Geographic specials. But the carnage they, and apparently the soldiers, too, had seen combined the two in a very unnerving way. The trouble was, Sam and Dean both knew exactly what had been responsible for it. More to the point, he wasn't at all sure the commander was going to believe it.

Sam's suspicions were confirmed when close to two dozen automatic weapons leveled at them. One man wearing dark glasses stalked purposefully up to them.

“Buenos dias, Señor,” said Dean amiably.

“Do not 'buenos dias' me, American,” said the man in a heavy, but still perfectly understandable Central American accent. “We know who you are and why you are here.”

“Okay,” said Dean with a shrug. “Humor me.”

The man just looked a him.

Dean pulled his fake badge at flashed it. “Dean Winchester. Interpol.” He put it back. “And we'd appreciate it if you'd order your men to lower their weapons.”

“Why?”

“Well,” said Dean, “in case you haven't noticed, we're not the threat here.”

“Is that so? Since when does Interpol drive a...Chevrolet Impala?”

“Less noticeable than, say, a BMW.”

The man cocked his head. “Do not James Bond me either.”

“Wouldn't dream of it. We're not that classy anyway.”

The man peered at Dean, then gave a conspicuous sideways nod. Two men stepped forward. One grabbed Dean by the arms, the other grabbed Sam.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean protested. “That's not really necessary.”

“Oh, but I think it is,” said the man. He pulled Dean's badge and peered at it. “Interpol, you say? We will see about that. Vamanos!”

The two men shoved the Winchesters toward the truck.

“You're making a big mistake!” said Dean.

“Don't you want to know what happened here?” said Sam, his heels digging into the gravel.

The man turned to Sam. “And you think you know?”

“Dinosaurs,” said Sam. He briefly told the man about the old guy they'd found who'd been muttering about dragons. Sam wasn't sure why he'd said all that. Maybe to buy them some time. For what, he didn't know.

“This is loco. Even for a gringo.” The man turned around again and the dragging resumed.

One of the other men off to Sam's left grunted. Another one screamed. Sam turned to see one of the soldiers pawing at his face, stringers of something dark and gooey running between his hands. The man sank to his knees near the edge of the clearing, still screaming and pawing.

Two men tried to help him. A blob of something flew from the wall of foliage, hitting one of those men on the side of the head. He, too, started screaming and pawing at his left eye. The second man straightened up, then started to walk backward in a panic. The head honcho barked orders at them, but they didn't seem to hear.

Something large hurtled out of seemingly nowhere and collided with the panicking man, the impact knocking him to the ground. He screamed and thrashed beneath a dinosaur. It had the same bipedal posture as the other dinosaurs Sam had seen so far, but was at least six feet long. The one gnawing on the hapless man's shoulder was mostly a pewter grey, but with a pair of red crests on its head.

Everyone else froze.

“Uh...Sam?”

“Dilophosaurus, I think,” said Sam.

Without warning, a second soldier leveled his weapon and fired a few rounds into the dinosaur. It lurched sideways and looked up. It growled. Then it extended a frill like that Australian lizard and hissed. A few seconds later, it leaped at the man who'd shot it. Claws ripped into his belly and teeth sank into the arm he raised in a futile attempt to defend himself.

The men holding Sam and Dean let go. Weapons fire erupted from every muzzle, pelting the dinosaur with bullets. It let go of its victim, apparently trying to choose a target, then staggered and collapsed.

The ensuing silence, broken only by the continued screams from three throats, was so thick, Sam could have cut it with a knife.

“Now do you believe us?” Sam asked the honcho.

The man peered at Sam as a few of the other men trotted over and fired a few more shots into the dilophosaur's head. Its victims continued to scream, holding their faces and other wounds. But even those voices were beginning to trail off.

“Señor!” one of the men said, then continued something in Spanish. The honcho stepped briskly over to the group and a discussion in Spanish ensued.

“Should we try to get out of here?” Sam asked.

“Duh,” said Dean. “But we wouldn't even make it back to the car before being shot.”

A single pistol report rang out from the group surrounding the injured men. Then a second and a third. Silence.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. That was not a good sign.

The honcho stalked back over to the Winchesters. “Now, gringos, you will tell me what you know of this.” He made an encompassing gesture.

“Not much, actually,” said Dean.

“Yeah,” said Sam. “Just what we said before and what you just saw. Well, and the Tyrannosaurus rex.”

The man removed his sunglasses and raised an eyebrow.

“I know,” said Dean, “sounds crazy, right?”

The man turned and shouted something in Spanish. Men fanned out and two other took up positions on either side of Sam and Dean. Not again.

“Now, again,” said the honcho. “You will...”

Another scream rose up from across the road. Sam looked just in time to see a soldier disappear into the bushes, his hands outstretched, trying futilely to grab onto the dirt, his face distorted in terror. Seconds later, the bushes shook, the screams intensified, then died out, replaced by what Sam could best describe as slobbery sounds.

The man nearest the vanished one backed up slowly, his weapon trained on the spot where his comrade had vanished. Abruptly, a dinosaur burst from the foliage with a high-pitched shriek, both hind legs colliding with the man's chest, driving him to the ground. His weapon went off, several shots going ineffectively wide. Jaws clamped onto his shoulder, hind claws shredding the man's abdomen as it tore into him.

Unlike the dilophosaur, the newcomer had a sort of olive green skin gradating to a lighter shade below and no crests. The curved claws on its hind legs were obvious. Sam didn't remember the other dinosaur possessing them. It was also smaller, but appeared to make up for it in aggression and agility.

“Velociraptor,” said Sam. “Or maybe Deinonychus.” He didn't bother to explain how he knew all that.

The man continued to scream as the dinosaur fed on his still-living flesh. More guns reported. The dinosaur abandoned the first man and leaped onto another, ripping into him.

Another dinosaur, a bit smaller than the first and with vertical bars in a distinctly red color, burst from the foliage a dozen meters away and tore into another man. Motion from a building to Sam's right became another velociraptor hurtling from a window, limbs extended in aggression, its shriek blending moments later with the scream from its victim.

Sam dropped to the ground, followed moments later by Dean. Seconds later, the air erupted in bullets, dinosaur shrieks, human screams, and shouted orders.

Sam exchanged a look with his brother. They both drew their pistols and army-crawled back toward the Impala. A thud sounded to Sam's left. He looked up into the eyes of a velociraptor maybe two meters away. It hissed at him.

Dean pointed his weapon and squeezed off three rounds. The raptor's eye exploded and the dinosaur squealed in pain, shaking its head violently, its incipient attack forgotten.

“Can't attack what you can't see, can you, bitch?” said Dean.

“How do you know it's a girl?” Sam asked over the din.

“Don't know. Don't care.” Dean fired a round at another dinosaur. The wound joined one of several others already leaking blood.

The brothers took up a defensive position, crouched beside the Impala. “If anyone shoots her...” said Dean, firing at the nearest raptor.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Sam. “At this rate, there might not be anyone left to hit.” He squeezed off another round, hitting another raptor in the head.

The dinosaur jerked, then swung around to face Sam. He fired again, wounding its muzzle. It growled. He fired again. It hissed, then charged.

“Oh, shit!” Sam squeezed off several more rounds, aiming for the center of mass. The dinosaur hurtled toward him and he dove out of the way. It hit the ground and slid into the Impala. It lay there twitching, trying to get up. Sam spun around and put two more rounds through its eye socket. After that, it lay still. Damn, those things died hard! Evidence for that still darted about what open space Sam could see.

“Dean?” Sam yelled.

“What?” Dean yelled back between shots.

“I think now might be a great time to do that getting the hell out of here!”

“You don't have to tell me twice!”

Sam and Dean both practically crawled into the Impala.

“You got those shotguns reloaded?” Dean asked.

“Working on it.” Sam set his pistol on the floor and shoved more shells into the shotgun.

“Uh...Sam?” Dean nodded to the right.

Another velociraptor crouched in what Sam recognized as its pre-attack posture. He swung the barrel out of the window, aimed, and fired. A splash of blood erupted from the dinosaur's upper chest. It tried to spring, but stumbled and fell to the ground instead.

Several more reports sounded from Sam's left. He turned to see Dean empty his own pistol into the mouth of another raptor. The gun clicked and he tossed it to the floor and started the engine. Several raptors looked up from the half-dead men they'd been eating. One of them abandoned its meal and charged the Impala.

Dean stomped on the gas. The wheels spun in the gravel, pelting whatever was behind them. Then they lurched forward, slamming into the raptor and stalling a lot of the Impala's momentum. The dinosaur slid over the hood and cartwheeled away, rolling on the ground several times before tottering back to its feet.

“Damn!” said Dean. “Those things die hard, don't they?”

Sam slammed a fresh clip into place. “I hope we have enough ammo.”

“You hope?” Dean said. He stomped on the gas again and the engine roared, peppering yet more gravel behind them.

A raptor launched itself at Sam, its front limbs hanging on the edge of the door. Sam leaned back, then emptied a magazine into the creature's mouth. He ignored the blood splattering back into his face and the shrieks of pain merging with the loud discharge. He was sure his ears were going to ring for at least a day. The dinosaur toppled backward, its lower jaw thumping on the rear edge of the door.

Dean swerved, clipping another dinosaur in the leg. The animal went down. It tried to get up.

Dean slowed down. “Gun!” he yelled.

Sam slapped a loaded weapon into Dean's hand. He fired into the dinosaur's eye, then several times into its torso, before accelerating away. He clipped another dinosaur, knocking it hard into the side of a building.

A heavy thump sounded on the Impala's roof.

“Oh, no, you're not!” said Dean. He slammed on the brakes. A large, scaly body rolled over the windshield, scraping the paint on the hood with its claws, and coming to a stop like a gargantuan hood ornament. “Get the hell off my hood, you bastard!”

Dean reached out the window and fired several rounds into the dinosaur. It screamed, then charged, bouncing off the glass. Dean fired again. Sam thrust his own pistol out the window and fired from the other side.

Dean's weapon clicked. He handed it to Sam, threw the Impala into reverse, and floored it. They lurched backward and the raptor topped off the hood.

“How many of these damn things are there?” Dean yelled.

Sam replied with a shotgun blast at another raptor perched atop a bus. It shrieked and retreated out of sight.

Dean switched back to drive and floored it, swerving around the twitching raptor. Another landed on the trunk, its claws catching on the seam between the trunk and the rest of the body.

“Oh, you've got to be kidding me!” said Dean.

Sam twisted around out the window and fired several rounds at the dinosaur. It protested in pain and anger.

“Hang on!” yelled Dean. He twisted the wheel sharply to the left, barely missing a rusted out sedan, then wrenched it back to the right.

The dinosaur's weight pulled back and forth before it rolled off and into a chain-link fence.

Neither brother said much for the next fifteen minutes.

“What...the...hell?” Dean finally asked.

“No idea,” said Sam.

“Oh, come on, Sam. You can do better than that. I mean, why are there dinosaurs? In Costa Rica? In the twenty-first century?”

“Remnants of a lost world?”

“A lost world that chose now to attack?”

“I don't know, Dean. Maybe someone cloned them.”

“What, using DNA from fossilized mosquitoes?

“Why not? We chase demons and that's even crazier.”

Dean was quiet for a couple minutes. “So now what, mister I have a plan?”

“Find another way around.”

“Uh-huh. No way.”

“What about Dad?”

“Dad wouldn't want us to get ourselves killed trying to find him. And for all we know, he's already...”

“Don't say it, Dean.”

“Okay, and what's going to happen when the Costa Rican government finds out about this? Besides the cover-up, I mean.”

“They'll nuke the place.”

“Yeah. I don't know about you, but I don't intend to be anywhere near here when they do.”

“And if they don't?”

“What, don't nuke it? Dean, of course they'll nuke it.”

“Dude, that's serious stuff. That's going to be noticed. It's going to blow up and be an incident. Even if they use napalm or whatever instead, it's still going to be all over the news.”

“Look, if they do nothing, those things are going to keep breeding and spreading and eating. We've seen at least a dozen towns, all looking like some post-apocalyptic wasteland. I was looking in the mirror while you were driving.”

“Between shooting at velociraptors?”

“Yeah. And they were ripping those army guys to shreds. Dean, those things are going to eat Costa Rica. Literally. What do you think's going to happen when they get to San Jose? There are two million people there. If...no, when...the tee-rex and the spinosaur get there? And that's assuming there aren't more of those.

“And the dilophosaur? And the velociraptors? To them, that place is a buffet. They'll gut the whole country. And then they'll keep going until dinosaurs once again rule the earth.”

“So what are we supposed to do, Sam? Got any bright ideas?”

Sam didn't say anything at first. “Well...if we put a buffer zone around them...”

“A buffer zone?”

“Yeah. It's called the desert Southwest. You know how much stuff there is for dinosaurs to eat?”

Dean shook his head.

“Nothing. Maybe snakes and jackrabbits. But those things are big. And big things need a lot of food.”

Dean snorted. “Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll go south and eat the Columbian drug cartels.”

“They'd have to eat Panama on the way.”

“Are you saying we're screwed, then?”

“Pretty much.”

“I say we go back to the good ol' U S of A and then see if anything winds up on CNN. Because if, like you say, those things get to San Jose, sure as hell it'll be all over every news channel in the world.”

Sam tipped his head backward, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Not saying it sounds good to me. Because a lot more people are going to die. But, yeah, at least put some distance between us and that.”

“Damn straight.”


End file.
